Jan 2017
..And although I am content as I write this,
I have found it hard to write through my happiness. For days, months, years, I continued to harvest this pain. Self inflicted; sometimes, one might say, that I was to blame - inflicting pain on my name whenever it rang. Or maybe sometimes, the world, I found a little too aggressive to tame. Trying to remain centered in my frame while all of these picture frames around this place starting taking center stage on a new terrain, or an old one: focal points of the past. Look at all that I have passed. So many leaking words, screaming to be heard but never last; perhaps only pressed into the pages I turned and still turn, that may be the only things I know assured. But I choose not to see my life as depicted so blurred. My vision is not perfect; but a vision when you know that you're worth it can create a mind that is certain on what's pertinent. I am a servant to myself. Health, wealth, and all combined. yet they still wish me hell while they stand beside the wishing well. Oh well. What am I to do? When the hopes of tomorrow might not ever become true...but to become so succumbed into thinking that we are inevitably doomed would have my mind, heart, and the very force that never holds them apart, separated in two. And so I choose. I choose when I speak, I choose when to heal.And it's like writing my pains allowed them to stand in an image a little more real, whereas my absence to the page represents my ultimate appeal: applying a happiness where words just can't seem to peel back the genuine feel. I guess I am healed. I thank you for guiding me here and allowing me to hear. I'll be near.
I have found it hard to write through my happiness. For days, months, years, I continued to harvest this pain. Self inflicted; sometimes, one might say, that I was to blame - inflicting pain on my name whenever it rang. Or maybe sometimes, the world, I found a little too aggressive to tame. Trying to remain centered in my frame while all of these picture frames around this place starting taking center stage on a new terrain, or an old one: focal points of the past. Look at all that I have passed. So many leaking words, screaming to be heard but never last; perhaps only pressed into the pages I turned and still turn, that may be the only things I know assured. But I choose not to see my life as depicted so blurred. My vision is not perfect; but a vision when you know that you're worth it can create a mind that is certain on what's pertinent. I am a servant to myself. Health, wealth, and all combined. yet they still wish me hell while they stand beside the wishing well. Oh well. What am I to do? When the hopes of tomorrow might not ever become true...but to become so succumbed into thinking that we are inevitably doomed would have my mind, heart, and the very force that never holds them apart, separated in two. And so I choose. I choose when I speak, I choose when to heal.And it's like writing my pains allowed them to stand in an image a little more real, whereas my absence to the page represents my ultimate appeal: applying a happiness where words just can't seem to peel back the genuine feel. I guess I am healed. I thank you for guiding me here and allowing me to hear. I'll be near.
